One Pawn Down

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A Game of Chess

My nine-year-old sits tall in her chair, a look of quiet concentration on her face. She touches each of her chess pieces. Confidently, she moves a pawn forward, her queen now vulnerable.

I take a sip of my drink, assessing the board. I counter her move with my bishop, positioning it to take her queen.

She smiles, grabbing another pawn at the far end of the board and gleefully taking out one of my pawns.

AI image by me

“Are you sure you want to move that pawn?” I inquire.

“I like moving the pawns,” she says. “They’re like me. Little but they can still knock out other pieces.”

“True,” I reply slowly, thinking about all the deeper metaphors at play here. Do I have the heart to call checkmate?

I decide to do it. I realize the only way she’ll learn to think more broadly about all the things that could take her out is to experience them firsthand. I also know that she can handle it. She won the last game, after all.

And she does handle it well, laughing and brushing aside the pieces. She makes light of the situation as usual, knowing she can always play again or do something else.

My mind returns to an image of a pawn lying on the board, defeated. The other pieces on the board stand around it, silently staring. The array of potential things that can take one out is both metaphorical and real, of course.

Sea Change

I didn’t really know how to begin to write this piece. I knew that if I wrote what needed to be said, it could manifest some beautiful things. And that these things would likely come with a huge vulnerability hangover and some serious humble pie.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve felt like a pawn knocked clean off the chessboard. Expendable. Weak. Used.

Reality in this moment feels like a tidal wave. I know I’m far from alone in navigating the turbulence of 2025, but it’s still rough. My ADHD brain wants to process everything at once. The huge jumble of emotions swarms in my gut - anger, fear, anxiety, frustration, shame, grief, disgust. Their colors swirl together, a brown-black, churning, slippery muck.

I’ve been trying, for some time, to hold it all together. I wrote recently about my fears around my job and career. I also wrote about the difficulty of parenting and setting limits (especially true as a person who tends toward codependency and has defiant, neurodivergent kids). I’ve written about challenges in navigating the give and take of marriage. These past two weeks, a lot of these themes came to a head. It’s been quite an internal reckoning.

But the biggest kicker was this: I lost my job. I was dismissed. Laid off. Fired? The word leaves a horrible, bitter imprint in my mind. I know I wasn’t really fired but… was I? I was no longer considered useful or wanted. I wasn’t available enough, hungry enough, or driven enough anymore. I’d faded. And according to the highly subjective elements in my performance report, my skills had somehow diverged too far from what they wanted out of me. I didn’t think strategically or critically or proactively or creatively enough (even though my earlier attempts at both were repeatedly shot down). In short, imposter syndrome had eaten me alive.

Funny how all of this began to fall apart after I got diagnosed with ADHD and requested accommodations, and temporarily reduced my hours to support my child’s needs. Also funny how many of the things cited as areas where I wasn’t stacking up were directly aligned with the biggest challenges my ADHD presents in high-stress situations.

I shut my finger in the car door a few days before losing my job. This occurred on a morning I was feeling especially exhausted and resentful toward my husband. In a moment of sleep-deprived carelessness, I looked on in horror at the closed car door with my finger still in it. Sitting in the urgent care waiting room, finger throbbing in pain, I blamed myself for my anger.

Shame: Anger’s Fixer, Depression’s Enabler

I fancied myself a pawn. But what if I’m not the victim here? Could this whole nightmare signal an opportunity?

The school of hard knocks is sometimes good. It can wake us up, light a fire. But being someone with plenty of shame to process, there’s a little problem with this.

When life knocks us down, and we feel rejected, shame tends to leap onto the stage, pushing aside other emotions with its attention-grabbing performance. Shame blocks our anger. It’s the voice inside that tells us, particularly those of us who are neurodivergent, that we’re inherently bad. We’re “not good enough”. We don’t deserve to be angry about the situation, because we haven’t done enough to merit feeling upset. Therefore, we turn our anger inward, on ourselves. Eventually, many of us end up feeling depressed.

As Brene Brown notes, “We live in a world where most people still subscribe to the belief that shame is a good tool for keeping people in line. Not only is this wrong, but it’s dangerous.”

A Path to Vulnerability

As noted in a We Can Do Hard Things podcast I listened to while walking early this morning, “trying really hard – with anything – is incredibly vulnerable.” While vulnerability can shine a light that chases away shame, shame in turn inhibits our ability to be vulnerable. Trying hard at my job became too vulnerable for me, and after a certain degree of being dismissed and sidelined, my shame and rejection sensitivity pushed back. Instead of fighting, I gave up. Some might say I “quiet quit.” I mean, I was still working. Constantly. But I didn’t have my heart in any of it, and it showed.

Coming back to Brene, a well of wisdom on the shame/vulnerability dynamic, “If we want greater clarity in our purpose or deeper and more meaningful spiritual lives, vulnerability is the path.”

Do I really want to keep living my life as a “sideline person” because I’m afraid of being vulnerable?

Our willingness to own and engage with our vulnerability determines the depth of our courage and the clarity of our purpose; the level to which we protect ourselves from being vulnerable is a measure of our fear and disconnection. (Brene, yet again).

I never intended to not give my all. I’ve always been an overachiever, if anything. But I was teetering on burnout in every facet of life (more on this later). I was living in a constant state of fear of rejection and anxiety (a lot more here to explore, as well). And, perhaps most importantly, I felt I was working as a pawn making money for the company as efficiently as possible, a cause which masqueraded as serving a “higher purpose” — often at the expense of my family and mental health.

It just didn’t seem worth it anymore.

An Intuitive Vision

A couple months back I pulled my dust-covered tarot desk from a shelf high in the hall closet. I sat down and got grounded. Then I touched the cards, asking for guidance around my career. I wasn’t surprised the Four of Cups card appeared to represent the present situation.

The Four of Cups is the card of apathy, contemplation, disconnection, indifference, and boredom. This card shows a young man deep in reflection and meditation. He is so engrossed in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice an outstretched arm offering him a cup. Another three cups lie at his feet, but he does not notice them either.

The Four of Cups reminds us that gratitude is a critical element to every successful relationship. Do not be so self-absorbed that you do not see the wonderful opportunities for happiness around you. Do not be so focused on what you do not have that you overlook what you already have. The Four of Cups is a reminder and a warning to be grateful for what we have.

This card serves as a reminder to pause and reflect on your emotional well-being and consider whether your current path is fulfilling. It encourages introspection in order to gain clarity and avoid becoming stuck in a stagnant emotional state.

I couldn’t argue that I’d lost sight of gratitude and opportunity in the midst of my chaotic life. But when I looked at the “Future” card, I knew that this intuitive vision wasn’t a fluke. I’d drawn the Four of Swords.

This card emphasizes the importance of taking a break and practicing self-care to avoid burnout and mental exhaustion. It also suggests that it is necessary to seek solitude and time away from others to recharge your energy. The Four of Swords encourages you to reflect on your priorities and needs, to ensure that you can show up as your best self in all aspects of life.

Observing these interpretations in the current moment, the meaning is beyond clear. This is the time for introspection, gathering strength, and burnout recovery. And it perfectly aligns with the coming season of fall.

Not Going Back

At least one decision was relatively easy: I’ve decided not to jump right back into the corporate reality. I dedicated three and a half years to this job, and more than twenty in my field. I’ve long-questioned how much positive impact the work I’ve done has actually had in the world.

I realize it takes some degree of privilege to make this decision. It’s not one that everyone can make. And it’s certainly not a financially prudent one for me in this moment — it’s a huge leap of faith. But, it aligns perfectly with my personal values and goals.

I summed it all up in a recent note here on Substack:

It’s official: I’ve departed the corporate world. The universe is propelling me full force toward a vision:

• To integrate writing, movement, and healing practices with parenting

• To grow community and perspective around the neurodiverse parenting experience.

Thanks to all of you, subscribers and friends, for being a part of this journey.

Let the adventure begin! More soon to come. ✨

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